World of Gray
by Cultural Socks
Summary: Alfred was only trying to be the hero. Arthur was only trying to be his friend. Against all odds, a fatal injury and a life-changing course of events brings the two together in a way they never before thought possible. USUK.
1. Echoes

**.:;World of Gray;:.**

**CHAPTER 1 - ECHOES**

It was an unusually dark and gloomy evening, even for New York. The air was sharp and chilly, and Alfred often found himself tugging at the ends of his jacket sleeves seeking the extra bit of warmth it would bring him. Barely anyone else was out on the streets, save for a few middle-aged women huddled in groups here and there, whispering frantically to one another, and a couple of suspicious-looking men standing at the corners, smoking.

A shiver ran down Alfred's spine as the wind picked up. He tucked his chin down into his collar and tried to ignore the piercing cold, but to no avail. Eventually he gave up and ducked into an alley to take the back roads home, which he knew from experience would be much faster. After all, the sooner he got back to his apartment, the sooner he would be snuggled up on the couch with a latte from McDonald's, surfing the TV channels for a cheesy Christmas special.

Seemingly out of nowhere, a scream jerked him from his thoughts. He picked up his pace a bit, despite trying to reassure himself that it was probably just some teenagers goofing off. Usually, Alfred would be jumping at the chance to play hero, but after what had just happened he wasn't in the mood. A second later, he heard the screaming again, this time dotted with cries of, "Help me! Help! Somebody!"

Alfred knew that no decent hero could ignore cries for help - that was most definitely common knowledge. And so he, being the hero that he was (albeit self-proclaimed), reluctantly traced his steps backwards and soon found himself standing at the mouth of the alley. He got a nasty feeling in his gut that he desperately tried to disregard as he peeked around the corner and surveyed the area for any signs of a nearby damsel in distress. Nothing. Disappointed, the young blonde turned to leave and continue home when the scream sounded again. Alfred jumped. This time it was cut short, but if he strained his ears, he could still hear muffled screech. He knew he'd have to hurry if he was going to be saving anyone.

He sighed and decided to call 911, but a quick search of his pockets revealed that his phone wasn't on him when he needed it most. He was struck with the sudden realization that he must've left it on the counter at Arthur's. _Stupid __Arthur. _Alfred let out a groan. Could he possibly have worse luck?

"I'm coming! Hang in there!" he shouted on a whim, although he knew it wasn't the most intelligent thing to do. The criminal was perfectly capable of ditching his latest victim and coming to get him instead. _That__'__s __okay, __though. __Bet __he __couldn__'__t __last __a __second __in __a __fight __with __me, _Alfred told himself. He paused to listen for a moment and noted with relief that the shrieking had since ceased. _Good,_ he thought, letting out a breath that he hadn't been aware he was holding. _I __probably __scared __the __guy __off, __hah._

He still had time to save the girl, then!

Perhaps if he'd been in his right mind at that particular moment – or rather, if his mind hadn't been glazed over with the promising image of him bowing in front of a million pretend spectators with the girl swooning in his arms – he would have noticed the slick sheet of ice that covered the ground, making it a miracle for him not to slip and fall.

Unfortunately, it was not a very miraculous day.

Alfred had attempted to make a sharp turn, but ended up skidding on the ice and stumbling forward towards the opening to the underground subway. At the last minute, he reached out and clutched the railing hard, holding on tightly even though it, too, was covered in ice, and his hands were burning from the cold. He leaned over the edge of the stairwell to catch his breath for a second. His pulse was rapidly beating against the thin skin of his throat.

While in his daze, shaky and heart beating out of his chest, Alfred hadn't heard the slush of boots trudging through the muddy snow behind him. In fact, it had never even crossed his mind that he was in any sort of immediate danger, let alone a life or death situation. He suspected absolutely nothing at all until two wide, strong, gloved hands dug into his back and shoved with all the strength they could muster. Alfred was sent straight into the metal railing. He could feel the air rush out of his lungs as his rib made a deadly cracking noise and broke, no doubt. He stopped to collect himself – well, as much as he could with a broken rib – and mentally planned out turning around to face his bully and kicking him square where-the-sun-don't-shine. But that was another move he never got to make.

Before he could right himself, the man had pushed him again - even harder. But this time, Alfred wasn't holding onto anything. This time, he was leaning too far over the edge to have any hope of saving himself.

And so this time he fell.

He toppled over the edge of the railing and plummeted headfirst towards the rapidly approaching cement. In those feet that felt like miles, Arthur's words replayed themselves over and over in his mind like a broken record that wouldn't shut off no matter how badly he ached for it to. _I __hate __you. __I __hate __you. __I __hate __you._

_Make __it __stop, _he thought dimly. His head was screaming.

And then suddenly, finally, Alfred heard a thud. He felt nothing but a dull, distant pain as the world of gray quickly turned to black.

* * *

><p>"That bloody <em>idiot,<em>" Arthur murmured into his drink. He took a small sip, but ended up spitting it back into the cup. American tea was less than stellar in the first place, but it was made even worse now that it had become disgustingly room temperature in the extensive amount of time the Brit done nothing but sat there, complaining about his day. His horrendous, atrocious day.

"So you've said, _mon __cher,__"_ Francis replied in a bored tone. The blonde was seated casually next to Arthur, legs crossed, twirling his empty wine glass between nimble fingers.

Arthur growled and absentmindedly brought a pale hand to his forehead, as if to comfort the unpleasant ache that had accompanied quite a bit of sobbing and not nearly enough breathing. _Francis _had seen him _crying. _Over _Alfred,_ nonetheless! As if things weren't already bad enough; he was never going to live this down.

"You _could_ be a bit more consoling," he said, although he knew not to expect as much.

"My dearest apologies, Arthur. I am deeply conflicted over the miserable pain you are feeling at the moment. My heart goes out to you."

"Frog; like you even have a heart," Arthur snarled. He picked up his tea and downed half without a second thought - better than nothing, although he could admittedly go for some alcohol.

Francis made a show of yawning and checking his watch.

"It's late. I'm going home. If you want a ride, now is your chance; otherwise, I sincerely hope the manager doesn't kick you out. …Actually, that might be amusing. Be sure to call later so that I can laugh at your expense."

He gathered his belongings and slid a crisp fifty onto the table, probably in effort to make up for his friend scaring off most of the customers earlier.

Arthur huffed and crossed his arms. "I never said I wasn't coming with."

"Are you?"

"…No."

Francis sighed. "You do realize Alfred is not coming after you?"

Arthur scowled and shifted his green-eyed gaze to the floor.

"Yes."

"Very well. Next time you wish to act like an unruly, dramatic teenaged girl, please do forewarn me."

And with that, Francis paraded out the front door of the restaurant. A cool rush of night air hit Arthur in the face before the door shut, leaving him alone in the somber, hostile building with only a half empty cup of lukewarm tea and a heavy heart to keep him company.

Or so he thought.

_Ring, __ring._

Arthur raised a moderately large eyebrow. Who on Earth would be calling him at this hour…? His mind went immediately to Francis, but fortunately that option was ruled out. Maybe it was Alfred… calling to apologize… No, he mustn't get his hopes up.

_Ring, __ring._

He sighed and shoved a hand into his pocket, pulling out the phone that his younger brother, Peter, had gotten him for his birthday. Quite unnecessary, really - his old phone had been just fine. (Five years old, yes, but otherwise perfectly fine.) He was still figuring out how to work this thing… where was the talk button again? He decided on the green one and pressed on it. Touch screens were such a useless invention, really. He held the phone up to his ear and cleared his throat.

"Hello?" he ventured, quickly realizing he hadn't bothered to check the caller ID. The voice that replied was unfamiliar - female. She sounded upset.

"Um, hello, sir," she started shakily, clearing her throat. "It seems that… Well, um… Ahem. I am sorry to inform you that an acquaintance of yours - Alfred Jones, I believe - has suffered a fatal injury and is currently in the h-hospital. Um, the doctors have been trying to get him to speak… they're trying to keep him from entering a coma, but… all he can manage is your name… We looked you up on the database… I mean, I thought it best to inform you."

_Surely __this __is __a __dream? __Surely __I__'__m __having __a __nightmare? __Surely __it __isn__'__t __for __real? _Arthur's mind was spinning.

The girl cleared her throat.

"S-sorry?" he managed. _No __way. __No __bloody _way _was __this __happening._

"You're welcome to visit, sir, but I'm sad to say his chance of survival is slim," she said grimly.

At first the unwelcome words failed to register. When they did, Arthur's grip loosened and the phone slid from his hand, hitting the floor. The screen shattered, and the sound echoed throughout the building.

For a split second, Arthur could have sworn his heart had been brought to a dead stop.

The next second, he was long gone.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **To anyone who lasted this long: thanks for reading, guys! This is my first published fanfic, so go easy on me. XD Constructive criticism is definitely welcome, though.

Please review, and let me know if you wanna see another chapter!

-Socks


	2. Silence

**.:;World of Gray;:.**

**CHAPTER 2 - SILENCE**

"Doctor… is he going to be okay?"

Grunt.

"Doubtful."

Pause.

"But there's hope, right?"

Sigh.

"There's always hope."

The voices were faint, but Alfred could just barely make out their words. What was going on? Where was he? Why was it so dark?

He tried to move, but presently found that he couldn't. Terrified, he desperately struggled to make some sort of a noise, hoping that the other people in the room would hear him and come to his rescue. Nothing came out – not even a squeak.

"I contacted Arthur," a new voice said. It was clear as a bell and slightly high pitched.

Wait… Arthur? As in _his _Arthur? Arthur Kirkland? What was going on?

"And?"

"I explained the… situation, to him. He barely responded, so… I told him he could come and visit, and then the line went dead."

The man sighed.

"I've definitely heard that before. He'll be here any second, I assume."

"Probably."

Silence.

Alfred tried again to make a noise, and again his attempt proved fruitless.

He was beginning to get frustrated. Didn't they know he was here? Why were they ignoring him?

"Do you think he's fully unconscious?"

"Most likely. Why?"

"Well, it's just that… I've heard… can't some people still hear things in a coma?"

Pause.

"You could say that. In past cases, minor reactions have been reported, such as a squeezing of the hand… but the patient never remembers anything, when and if they wake up."

"Oh."

A coma? Who were they talking about? Alfred hoped it wasn't somebody he knew. That would suck. Then again, if Arthur was coming to visit, it might be. They had plenty of mutual friends, after all.

Arthur was coming to visit… Alfred didn't know quite how to feel about that. He wasn't angry anymore, not really, but on the other hand, he wasn't exactly up for apologizing - especially since he couldn't even speak. If he kept remaining unnoticed, maybe Arthur wouldn't notice him, either. Yeah! That sounded like a good plan. He would just keep very still and very silent. Which wouldn't be difficult, considering he couldn't do much else.

But... why? Why couldn't he do anything? A horrifying thought struck him: maybe he was _dead_. Maybe this was what it was like to be dead! Alfred F. Jones! The hero! Dead!

Along with that notion came a reasonable amount of guilt. If he really _was_ dead, he had never gotten to fix things with Arthur.

Oh, right. Arthur hated him. Nevermind.

A door slammed.

Alfred heard panting.

"Where… where is he?" a familiar English-accented voice asked shakily.

Pause.

"Over there, sir."

Heavy footsteps.

More panting.

The heavy breathing was coming from above him. It got a bit louder as the person got closer, probably kneeling down. Alfred smelled tea.

_Arthur__…__?_

Hiccup.

"A-Alfred…"

It _was _Arthur.

But if Arthur had come to visit him… did that mean… did that mean he was in a _coma?_

Silence.

* * *

><p>Arthur was shaking, panting heavily. Beads of sweat had gathered on his hairline, and he reached up to wipe them away before slowly kneeling down beside Alfred's bed. A strand of familiar golden blonde hair peeked out from under the starched white sheets. It was stained with blood. Arthur knew what had happened, yet the unpleasant sight still managed to catch him off guard.<p>

"A-Alfred…" he whispered, though he knew the younger man wouldn't respond. The whole way here he'd been thinking of exactly what to say, playing endless scenarios over in his mind… but now that the moment had arrived, he found that words refused to come to him.

He fumbled for Alfred's hand and when he found it held on tightly, as if he were holding onto the boy's life. He could have sworn he felt a squeeze in return. Hopefully that meant Alfred knew he was there.

And hopefully that was enough.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** Sorry this is so short. I didn't want to rush anything; plus, it adds to the dramatic effect. 8D

After this, chapters will start getting a lot longer, and I'll try to update weekly.

Reviews = C:

-Socks


	3. Nothing and Everything

_**.:;World of Gray;:.**_

_**CHAPTER 3 - NOTHING AND EVERYTHING**_

_Everything was dark. All Arthur could see was never-ending blackness, but when he reached up to touch his eyes he found that they were wide open. All around him hung an eerie silence and a bitter coldness that ate at his skin. The floor beneath him began moving, churning, and he quickly lost balance and fell. He didn't hit the floor like he expected; it seemed as if it had fallen out from under him. He fell, unmoving, paralyzed with fear. Falling, falling, falling into nothing. He couldn't reach out in hopes of grabbing something, anything, to stop his fall. He couldn't scream. He couldn't even think – his mind was flashing with pictures of Alfred. Alfred smiling, laughing, running, walking, dancing, skipping, talking, crying, eating, sleeping. And then, abruptly, more nothingness. _

_ Alfred was gone._

_ And so was he. _

Arthur awoke with a start. His head was throbbing. The side of his face was sore from sleeping on the cold, hard marble floor, and there was an uncomfortable crick in his neck. He rubbed at it, letting out a rather large yawn, before taking in his unfamiliar surroundings. White, lifeless walls; stiff people in lab coats muttering urgently to one another; countless machines beeping robotically; and cots lined up against one wall. All of the makeshift beds were empty and made neatly, except for one – the one Arthur had been sleeping beside.

Propped up in it was a boy who looked much younger and more vulnerable than he had ever let on. He had messy, golden blonde locks that were faintly tinted red, and his face was ghostly pale. His eyes were closed, though Arthur knew them to be clear blue, brighter than the sky itself. His thin lips were parted ever so slightly; the soft breaths that escaped them matched up with the gentle rise and fall of his chest. He looked peaceful, but at the same time, lifeless. In other words: nothing like the Alfred that Arthur had almost always known and gradually, cautiously grown to love. Not that it meant anything anymore - not after the fight they'd had just the day before. The day before… when Arthur's entire world had been so much different.

Everything was so simple. Pretend to hate Francis (when he was really your best friend), pretend to hate Alfred (when you really didn't know how to feel about him but you knew it wasn't hatred), and be wary of trust and of love. Go to sleep early, wake up early, and brave through the day with a cup of tea in hand and a stiff upper lip. Ignore the nagging feeling in the back of your mind that it wasn't how things were supposed to be; how you wanted them to be.

Surely all of that was over now. Arthur was almost drowning in his own guilt. If only he had made the effort to change things sooner, maybe he could have prevented this. He could have saved Alfred, and he could have saved himself all of this pain... No, he mustn't allow himself to think like that. Things were as they were, and he couldn't go back in time and fix them, even if he'd give his right arm to. All he could do now was take it step-by-step, day-by-day, and pray he didn't lose his mind in the process.

"Excuse me, sir, but… can I get you anything? If you're not feeling up to a trip to the cafeteria, I could bring you some breakfast. On me."

Arthur turned around to face the girl that had been tending to Alfred yesterday, before he had barged in and made a fool of himself. He realized, shocked, that she was the very same girl he had spoken to on the phone. (Well, who had spoken to _him, _rather.)

"Um, no, thank you. I'm fine for now," he said, hoping he didn't sound too pathetic. The girl raised an eyebrow.

"You don't look fine to me. Want to talk? I'm sure Roderich won't mind if I take a few minutes to try and cheer you up." Her light green eyes sparkled, and Arthur felt thoroughly flattered.

"Well, I probably won't have much to say, but… I do believe I could use the company," he admitted sheepishly. She grinned and sat down on the ground next to him. Arthur was mildly surprised that she didn't bring up chairs for the two of them, but left the matter unspoken, figuring it would be rude after the kindness she'd shown.

"I guess we should start with introductions, huh? My name is Elizabeta Hedervary, but you can call me Eli, if you'd like."

"Um, alright, Eli… my name is Ar-"

"Arthur Kirkland! Oh, I know, I've heard so much about you."

Arthur unsuccessfully tried to hide his astonishment. "You have?"

"Of course! You're close to Francis, who is close to Gilbert, who is… err… an _acquaintance _of Roderich and I."

"Oh… right… how could I have forgotten?" Arthur said, attempting not to sound sarcastic. Eli smiled.

"You came to see Alfred, then?" she asked suddenly, causing a significant change in the mood. She looked up at the bed with sadness in her eyes, but it was incomparable to that in Arthur's.

"Yes, I suppose I did…"

"Well, I bet he's awfully glad you're here."

Arthur shifted uncomfortably. _If only she knew… _"Um, do you know how he's doing?"

Eli sighed. "Good, you could say. His injuries look like they'll be healing well, but that won't mean anything if he doesn't wake up soon."

"…What do you mean?"

Eli paused, thinking of the best way to put it without making Arthur feel even worse.

"He's comatose right now, and although that's normal for such a bad head injury, if he doesn't wake up soon then when he does it's likely he'll be in a vegetative state."

Arthur looked down at the floor and blinked back tears. _Gentlemen don't cry, especially not in front of ladies._

"But it's still possible that he'll be okay?" he asked hesitantly after a short silence, afraid of the response he would receive.

"It's _very much _possible," Eli assured him. On second thought, she added, "After such severe brain damage, though, it's likely that he'll have a minor case of amnesia."

_Amnesia?_

"He won't remember me?" Arthur asked blankly.

Eli looked heartbroken. "No, no, of course he'll remember you! He'll remember lots of things and people that are important to him, you included. He just won't be able to recall specific events, some stuff he learned in school, or small things like addresses, phone numbers, and passwords."

_Specific events… _It hit Arthur that Alfred might not remember their fight. At first, the thought made him happy, but almost immediately afterwards he was overcome with guilt. Alfred had every right to be mad at him, and he knew it. He just didn't want to face it.

Eli raised an eyebrow and looked at him knowingly. "Is there something you'd _like_ for him to forget?" She smirked. "You two didn't have a fight, did you?"

Arthur sighed and scratched his head. "Yesterday afternoon."

She reached out and touched his hand in a comforting gesture, much to his surprise. "I know it would be easier for you that way, but it'd definitely show a stronger person for you to explain what happened and apologize to him."

Arthur sighed and pulled his hand away. "I know."

There was an awkward silence. Fortunately, Eli wasn't too good at being silent when someone was upset.

"If you do decide to apologize – or heck, even if he remembers on his own – I doubt it could be over anything big enough for either of you to continue to hold a grudge after something like this."

When Arthur thought about it, the fight really _did_ seem petty now that something so much worse had come up. He felt bad for making such a big deal out of it.

"I guess you're right. He's not really one to hold a grudge, anyway."

Eli laughed. "And you are?"

Arthur was still having trouble adjusting to Eli's blunt personality. "I suppose I _can _be, at times," he grumbled.

"It's not good to hold grudges, you know."

"I'm aware," he replied dryly.

Instead of being offended, she smiled. Arthur wasn't used to someone being so kind to him, but it was nice during such a difficult time.

"I'm sorry for distracting you… you probably have to get back to work, right?" he asked, embarrassed.

"Actually, I'm supposed to be watching Alfred right now." She glanced at him. "And seeing as he's not doing all that much, and we're right next to him anyhow, I don't see how it could hurt to keep talking."

"Oh," said Arthur.

There was another silence, but this time it was less awkward. Instead, it felt almost… comforting.

"So, how did you meet?" Eli asked, unable to stand the quiet any longer. She was a talkative person, Arthur noted.

"What?"

"You and Alfred."

_This girl never fails to catch me off guard, _Arthur thought.

He couldn't decide whether to tell her the truth or not. After all, he'd only ever recounted that day to himself, and it felt almost personal. Looking into her expectant green eyes, though, he gave way. "He was nine, and I was thirteen. My family had just moved here from London. The Joneses lived across the street, so Alfred thought it would be neighborly – actually, I believe he used the term 'heroic' – of him to bring me homemade cookies. I remember answering the door, looking around for someone, and then looking down and seeing little Alfred standing there with a plate of freshly baked cookies and that same old smile…"

Eli was captivated. She had her head in her hands, and when Arthur trailed off, she urged for him to continue.

"The cookies were good, I admit. I didn't see him much for a while. I was busy with school, after all, and he _was_ four years younger than me."

"And now he's taller!" Eli said, laughing. Arthur blushed.

"Yeah, well… he had a growth spurt. Anyway, about a year later, his parents offered me a job babysitting for them. Alfred seemed like a sweet kid, so I thought hey, why not make some extra money?"

"So you did?"

"I did. It wasn't a very eventful night. He was a bit more hyper than I thought, but eventually we settled down and watched a movie. We fell asleep on the couch together," he remembered fondly, then flushed when he realized he'd said that out loud.

"Aww, that's _so _adorable!"

"I guess."

"And you guys have been close ever since?"

"Not exactly. I kept babysitting him for about a year, whenever his parents would go out. After the fifth time I stopped taking their money," he said, and laughed. "At eleven, he decided he was too old for me. Ironic, huh?"

"Yeah. So you stopped seeing him?"

"For the most part. He had friends his age, and so did I."

"Francis?"

Arthur rolled his eyes. "That's another story."

Eli laughed. "Wait, so what brought you guys together again?" she asked curiously.

Arthur bit his lip and began distractedly tracing the seam of his pants with his finger. "I went through a hard time. My father died, my brother became an alcoholic, and I started getting bullied at school. That was my, er… punk phase."

"I'm sorry, Arthur… but you? Punk? That's _rich._"

Arthur rolled his eyes. "I was seventeen. What did you expect?"

She laughed again. "And where does Alfred come into the picture, may I ask?"

"Well… he was a bit more mature by then – just a _bit, _Eli, he was still in _seventh grade _– and his hero obsession had only gotten bigger. He was outside playing with his dog one evening when I was headed off to a party, and he stopped me to talk. Apparently, I said a few things that worried him, and so I was pronounced his latest damsel in distress."

That had Eli practically rolling around on the floor with laughter. Roderich sent her an unamused look, but she just shook her head and kept giggling.

"Did it work?"

"Did _what _work?"

"His mission! His heroic deed!" she shouted, flailing her arms.

"I wouldn't say it _worked. _But it might have helped a bit."

"How? What did he do?"

"You're awfully nosy, aren't you?"

"Tell me!"

Arthur sighed. "He came over a lot. We talked a little. I was pretty annoyed with him, though, so I rarely let him off easily."

"_Arthur_! He was being _nice_!"

"He was killing my dignity."

"Nice!"

"Dignity."

"Super nice! Heroic!"

"Maybe in the mutated version of this story that exists in your head."

"Hey, I'm just going by what you're telling me! So how did it help?"

"Well… it didn't, really, until he tried to comfort me after… Francis…"

"Francis?"

Arthur turned bright red to the tips of his ears. "Dumped me."

"Whoa, whoa, wait a minute. Dumped you? You guys were dating? Since when? Wait, you're gay? You're gay! Arthur's gay! I_ knew_ it! You're in love with Alfred, aren't you? You are! Hah!"

"Eli."

"Arthur and Alfred, sitting in a tree-"

"_Eli."_

"K-I-S-S-I-"

"ELI!"

"Sorry, sorry."

Pause.

"I'm not telling you the rest anymore, you know."

Her eyes widened, and she pouted. "What? You're not? Why not?"

"You just killed my dignity."

Eli rolled her eyes. "What is it with you and your dignity?"

"I am a dignified person."

"Maybe in the mutated version of yourself that exists in your head."

"Not funny."

"Hilarious, and you know it. Now spill."

"No."

"Spill."

"No."

"_Arthur,"_ she whined.

"Yes?"

"Spill."

"_Fine."_

"Yes!"

Arthur took a deep breath and tried to think back to where he was in his story. Oh, right – Francis.

"We weren't exactly _dating_. We were just sort of… well… experimenting, you could say. He was never anything more than a friend. And a perverted friend at that."

Eli wiggled her eyebrows and snorted. Arthur tried not to slap her arm.

"I was still torn up, though. You know how emotional teenagers get."

"Yep, I was one."

"Well, I doubt he actually cared, but Alfred stuck to his promise and tried to be the hero."

"Of course he cared!"

"Maybe. Anyway, he was horribly cheesy, and at first he just made it worse… but I guess I loosened up a bit after he, um… made me cookies."

"Oh my gosh. The same cookies?"

"Well… yeah."

"And?"

"And brought over a movie to watch."

"No. Way. The same movie?"

Arthur nodded. "Spy Kids."

"Oh, that one! It's pretty bad."

"It is."

"But still, that's super romantic!"

It was Arthur's turn to snort. "'Romantic' and 'Alfred' have never been within a mile of each other."

"So after that?"

"My punk phase sort of came to an end, and we got a bit closer."

"Just a bit?"

"Well, okay, he was sort of my best friend."

Eli seemed disappointed. "Just friends?"

"Yes, Eli. Friends. He's not… that way."

"But you _do _like him?"

Arthur paused. He'd never admitted it out loud before, but… it's not like he had anything to lose. Besides, she already knew this much. She might as well know everything.

"Sort of."

Eli squeeled. Arthur had never actually heard someone squeel before, but he was pretty sure the noise she just made was a squeel.

"You _have _to tell him!"

"I already told you! He's not gay! It would… it would ruin our friendship!"

"How do you know? Have you asked him? Arthur, he wouldn't have done all that if he didn't like you!"

"No, I haven't asked him, but I know, okay? And yes he would have. It's his personality."

"What did you guys fight over?"

"What?" _What brought that up?_

"What started your fight? The one yesterday!"

Arthur took a deep breath and ran a hand through his disheveled wheat-blonde hair. "He got a girlfriend, okay?"

For the first time since the conversation had started, Eli went dead silent. Arthur refused to look at her; he was already mortified beyond belief.

"Why did I even _tell _you all that? I just _met _you! What's wrong with me?" Arthur said shakily, standing up.

"Arthur…"

"I'm going home to get a shower."

"Arthur…"

"Call me if he wakes up. I'll be back in a couple hours or so."

_"Arthur…" _

"_What?_"

"I'm sorry."

Arthur just stared at her for a second. He searched those green eyes, but there was no sign of anything but sincerety. He sighed.

"Me too. But I need some alone time, okay?"

"Okay."

Arthur tilted his head and offered her a weak smile. "Promise to look out for him for me?"

Eli's face brightened and she nodded eagerly. "Promise!"

"Good." His expression softened. "He's in good hands."

Eli stood and brushed off her skirt. "Thank you, sir," she said, and curtsied.

"You're very welcome."

Arthur turned and walked toward the door. He looked over his shoulder one last time and saw Eli bent over Alfred, whispering sweet words of comfort.

Yes, he was definitely in good hands.

The Briton reached for the doorknob and turned it slowly. He pushed open the door and was greeted with cold air. Pulling his coat around him a little tighter, he stepped out of the building, leaving behind Alfred and Eli and entering a world of gray.


End file.
